Latest Posts — Folklore

In the.. township of Saddleworth, near the romantically situated village of Greenfield, there is a wellknown Druidical remain, said to have been an altar-stone, where appeared to a man who died only a few years ago "Raura Peena," the last" fairee " (fairy) seen in the " parish " of Saddleworth. A short distance away are the "Fairy Holes," a couple of subterraneous caves into the inmost recesses of which she tried to allure him.

.. from a ' Glossary of Yorkshire Words and Phrases'..

Claymore Well, near Kettleness, on the coast, was a noted spot where the fairies washed their clothes and beat and bleached them, for on their washing-nights the strokes of their bittles or battledores were heard as far as Runswick.

There is a long mound in a part of my parish which is popularly called the "Giant's Grave," and very near it two large stones, which have probably rolled down from the beds of chert-like rock on the side or the chalk-hill above. I discovered lately that there is a popular tradition existing, though my informant somewhat doubted its correctness, that these stones move whenever they hear the cocks crow in Chesilborne, a neighbouring village.

C. W BINGHAM

Mr. P. H. Gosse, in his interesting work, Tenby: a Sea-side Holiday, 1856, p. 80, informs us that" the people talk a good deal of a curious cavern called Hoyle's Mouth, about which they have some strange notions. It opens at the end of a long lime-stone hill, or range of hills, about a mile inland; and the popular legend is, that it is the termination of a natural subterranean chasm which communicates with the great cave called, the Hogan, under Pembroke Castle, some eight miles distant.

It was once traversed, they say, by a dog, which, entering at one end, emerged from the other, with all his hair rubbed off! A gentleman is said to have penetrated to a considerable distance, and found ' fine rooms.' But the vulgar are very averse to exploring even its mouth, on the ostensible ground that a boar,' a wild pig,' dwells there; I fear, however, that there are more unsubstantial terrors in the case. I walked out to look at it; and if I found no dragons, nor giants, nor pigs, I enjoyed a most delightful rural walk."

Nearly fourteen hundred years ago Merlin (Myrddin Wyllt). the bard and prophet of the Strathclyde Britons, withdrew himself from an uncongenial world after the collapse of paganism at the battle of Ardderyd. The gateway "through which he departed was a whitethorn in full bloom at Drummelzier on the right bank of the Upper Tweed. We are able to fix the date of his disappearance satisfactorily, since the battle is recorded as having been fought in the year 575. A still-living tradition which I met with last year says that while Merlin lay entranced under the tree the spiders (fairies? or their emissaries?) gathered from all sides and bound him in their threads, so that he vanished from human eyes into the land of Faerie. But his spirit can still" be invoked and consulted at " Merlin's Thorn "—which must be a descendant of the original tree.

The rivulet of Powsail falls into the Tween a little below a small eminence called Merlin's Grave, near Drumelzier. Whether the prophet or wizard Merlin was buried here or not, Dr Penicuik, who notices both the grave and the rhyme, cannot certify. The following popular version of the rhyme [of Thomas the Rhymer?] is better than that which he has printed, and, I fear, improved:-

When Tweed and Powsail meet at Merlin's grave
Scotland and England that day ae king shall have.

Accordingly, it is said that, on the day of King James's coronation as monarch of Great Britain, there was such a flood in both the Tweed and the Powsail, that their waters met at Merlin's Grave. An ingenious friend remarks, though I cannot entirely go along with him, that the lines might be originally intended to attest the improbability of the two hostile kingdoms ever being united under one sovereign and as a means of keeping alive, at least in Scotland, the spirit of disunion. It will appear to modern scepticism that the rhyme was made after the event.

In Cornwall, Madron Well near Penzance had till recently—probably still has—a large thorn-tree growing against the wall of the baptistry which encloses the well. Young children suffering from skin-complaints are dipped in the well and carried round it three times, after which rags from their clothing are laid beside the streamlet and hung on the tree. This should be done about the beginning of May—the first Sunday if possible.

.. the Hill of Dun-o-Deer, in the parish of Insch: a conical hill of no great elevation, on the top of which stand the remains of a vitrified fort or castle, said to have been built by King Gregory about the year 880, and was used by that monarch as a hunting-seat; and where, combining business with pleasure, he is said to have meted out evenhanded justice to his subjects in the Garioch.

It has long been the popular belief that this hill contains gold; and that the teeth of sheep fed on it assume a yellow tinge, and also that their fat is of the same colour. Notwithstanding this, no attempt at scientific investigation has ever been made.
Abredonensis.

The Orkneys had sea-trows and hilltrows. All natural phenomena were regarded as the work of these supernatural agents, to whom worship was offered. A remarkable monument of this worship still remains on the hills of Hoy, the most mountainous of the islands. It is known as the Dwarfie Stone, and consists of a large detached block of sandstone, seven feet in height, twentytwo feet long, and seventeen feet broad. The upper end has been hollowed out by the hands of devotees into a sort of apartment, containing two beds of stone, with a passage between them.

The upper, or longer bed, is 5 ft. 5 in. long by 2 ft. broad, and intended for the dwarf. The lower couch is shorter, and rounded off, instead of being squared, at the corners ; it is intended for the dwarfs wife.

There is an entrance of about three feet and a half square, and a stone lies before it, calculated to fit the opening. Not satisfied with having provided such a solid habitation for the genius loci and his helpmate, the islanders were still in the habit, at no very distant period, of carrying propitiatory gifts to this fetich.

It is said that long " before King Robert rang," two giants inhabited these mountains, and are supposed to be the respective heroes of the two ballads [" John O'Benachie ;" and another, " John O'Rhynie, or Jock O'Noth]

These two sons of Anak appear to have lived on pretty friendly terms, and to have enjoyed a social crack together, each at his own residence, although distant some ten or twelve miles. These worthies had another amusement, that of throwing stones at each other; not small pebbles you may believe, but large boulders. On one occasion, however, there appears to have been a coolness between them; for one morning, as he of Noth was returning from a foraging excursion in the district of Buchan, his friend of Benachie, not relishing what he considered an intrusion on his legitimate beat, took up a large stone and threw at him as he was passing.

Noth, on hearing it rebounding, coolly turned round; and putting himself in a posture of defence, received the ponderous mass on the sole of his foot: and I believe that the stone, with a deeply indented foot-mark on it, is, like the bricks in Jack Cade's chimney, " alive at this day to testify."

The position of this hill is described in Murray's 'Handbook for Kent' as being immediately above the station (Chilham) on the right. The compilers of this work and of Black's ' Guide' offer the suggestion that this is a corruption of "Julian's Bower," a common name given to an area devoted to Roman popular games.

The generally accepted tradition, however, is that it marks the grave of one of Julius Caesar's generals, Laberius Durus; and the story is well told by Philipott in his 'Villare Cantianum,' 1659, p. 117 :—

" There is a place in this Parish [Chilham] on the South-side of the River stretched out on a long green Hill, which the Common People (who bear the greatest sway in the corrupting of Names) call Jelliberies Grave. The Historie itself will evidence the original of this denomination.

It was about this place that Julius Caesar respited his farther remove or advance into the bowels of this Island, upon intelligence received that his Fleet riding in the road at Lymen not far distant, had been much afflicted and shattered by a Tempest; whereupon he returned, and left his Army for ten dayes, encamped upon the brow of this Hill, till he had new careen'd and rigged his Navy; but in his march from hence was so vigoriously [sic] encountered by the Britons that he lost with many others Leberius Durus, Tribune and Marshal of the Field, whose Obsequies being performed with solemnities answerable to the eminence of his Place, and Command, each Souldier as was then Customary, bringing a certain quantity of earth to improve his plane of Sepulture into more note than ordinarie, caused it so much to exceed the proportion of others elsewhere ; and from hence it assumed the name of Julaber, whom other vulgar heads, ignorant of the truth of the story, have fancied to have been a Giant, and others of them have dreamed to have been some Enchanter or Witch."

"JULLABER" —Jullaber is near Chilham, about six miles south-west of Canterbury. There are two references to the place in Camden. Camden himself thus explains the name:—

"Below this town [Julham] is a green barrow, said to be the burying-place of one Jul Laber many years since; who some will tell you was a Giant, others a Witch. For my own part, imagining all along that there might be something of real Antiquity coach'd under that name, I am almost persuaded that Laberius Durus the Tribune, slain by the Britains in their march from the camp we spoke of, was buried here; and that from him the Barrow was called Jul-laber."

C. C. B.

A LOCAL TRADITION OF THE GOG-MAGOG HILLS.—About five miles south-east of the town of Cambridge, and in the county of the same name, are situated the Gog-Magog Hills. They are an offshoot of a range of chalk hills, known as the East Anglian heights, which run through that part of the country. Many barrows are found in the locality, which are supposed to be of early British origin. Here, too, stood the camp of Vandlebury, or Wandlebury, likewise of British construction. Like other places that boast of remote antiquity, it has its legends and traditions.

One tradition, relative to the origin of these hills (which I heard from an elderly man living in the neighbourhood), may be worth recording in the pages of " N. & Q.," especially as I have never seen or heard of it being anywhere in print. It asserts that previous to the formation of these hills (Which are three in number), and near to the same spot, was a very large cave, which was inhabited by a giant and hia wife (a giantess) of extraordinary stature, whose names were Gog and Magog. They did not live very happily together, for scarcely a day passed by without a quarrel between them. On one occasion the giantess so outraged the giant, that he swore he would destroy her life. She instantly fled from the cave ; he quickly pursued her ; but she running faster than her husband, he could not overtake her. Gog, in his anger, stooped down, took up a handful of earth and threw at her ; it missed her, but where it fell it raised a hill, which is seen to the present day. Again the enraged giant threw earth at his wife, but again it missed her ; where it fell it was the cause of the second hill. Magog still kept up her pace; but again the giant, in his rage, threw more earth at his wife ; but this time it completely buried her alive, and where she fell is marked by the highest hill of the three. So runs, the local tradition respecting the origin of the
Gog-Magog Hills.

H. C. LOFTS.

A SONG OF A CORNISH GIANT.—When my wife and I were at Fowey, in 1904, we stayed at the house of Mrs. West, {..} During some conversation about Cornish songs, Mrs. West informed us that there was one particular song that her brother used to sing, in which she thought we might be interested. Acting, gladly enough, on this suggestion, we arranged with Mrs. West for her brother to pay us a visit, and after he had sung it we asked and received permission to commit it to writing. {..} It was called by the name of The Old Cornishman.

In Cornwall there once lived a man,
Though his home I won't vouch for the truth, Sir
But if I am not misinformed.
He didn't live far from Redruth, Sir.
His name was Powicky Powick
Powicky Powicky Powido;
His mouth was so monstrously big,
It was near upon half a mile wide o
Tol de rol etc.

I suppose you have heard of Roach Rock.
Why, with his little finger he'd rock it.
And as for St. Michael his Mount
He could put it in his waistcoat pocket.
One day he fell down in a fit,
And his nose stuck so deep in the ground, Sir,
It made such an uncommon pit
That it's what is [now] calld Dolcoth mine, Sir!
Tol de rol etc.

One day he went down to Penzance
Of provisions to get a fresh stock. Sir,
And if I am not misinformed
He must have passed great Logan Rock, Sir,
Says he, I'll let Cornish folk know
[That] this rock shall not long here abide, Sir,
[So] he tried it to swallow—but oh!
It stuck in his throat and he died, Sir.
Tol de rol, etc.

Now in Cornwall they built a large ship
All out of England to carry him.
In the water they just let him slip—
And that is the way they did bury him.
His head stuck so high above sea,
Trees and grass grew there just as on dry land,
And for what Cornish folk have told me
That is what's called the Great Scilly Island.
Tol de rol, etc.

Here's success to tin, copper, and fish,
And may all his enemies fall, Sir!
Here's success to tin, copper and fish
And success unto one and to all. Sir.

W. W. SKEAT.
Lyme Regis.

Five or six years ago I was told by an elderly dame at Cerne Abbas (Dorset) that her mother had told her, in her young days, that it was customary, in her own youth, to " hold junkettings " on the Giant: and that it was well known that if a girl slept on the Giant, she would have a large family.

The " junkettings " were almost certainly the well-known May-pole festivities held in the Trundle, on the top of the hill, above the Giant. The latter part of the elderly dame's statement is not, I think, so well known. But it points to folk-memory of the fertility cult, with which the Giant seems so obviously to be connected.

K. T.

St. Catherine's Hill is a sandstone cliff, rising above the Wey, a mile south of Guildford, and nigh unto the wood below "the long backs of the bushless downs" where once Sir Lancelot was tended by Elaine. It is a thirteenth century chapel that stands there, ruined long ago by the Protestants ; but children play there still, and outside the chapel, in October, Cattern's Fair is held, and cattern cakes are sold and eaten, and gipsies bring thither their brown women and their wiles.

St. Martha's, in sight of which I write this, is twin with St. Catherine's. The two chapels were built (saith the story) by two giant sisters, who had but one hammer between them, and tossed it from the one hill to the other as either needed it in building.
A. J. M.
Buttercup Farm.

About 1894, schoolchildren used to take bottles with sugar or treacle to fill, and drink in company, at the spring which flowed out at the foot of St Catherine's Hill, Guildford (site of a chapel and an ancient horse fair), on the side nearest the river.
Barbara Aitken

The tumulus near the east end of the avenue leading to the Maiden Castle in Grinton is popularly reported to contain an iron chest filled with money.

Concerning the Maiden Bower at Dunstable a local versifier embodies the local idea :—

Still Tatternhoe dames rehearse their tale,
On eve of winter's day
About a chest hid in their knoll
When Romans went away.

'Tis at the bottom of that well
On Castle Hill, they say;
Of good old gold it was brimful,
And lies there to this day.

At Gaer Llwyd, about half way between Chepstow and Usk, is a cromlech—I believe the only one in Monmouthshire—the origin of which is thus accounted for by popular tradition.

"Once upon a time," which may be token to mean in the heroic ages of Gwent, there lived one Twm Sion Catti, who was on more familiar terms than a Christian gentleman (if he was one) ought to have been with his Satanic Majesty, with whom he one day engaged in a friendly game of quoits. It seems to have been a trial as much of strength as accuracy of aim, for the quoits consisted of the stones which now form the cromlech. A believing imagination points out the steps by which each cast was matched by another as good, until on Twm Sion Catti throwing a stone which literally capped them all, and now measures upwards of twelve feet by four, his adversary gave in.

Now, as there was a Tim Sion Catti who flourished in historic times—a kind of Welsh Robin Hood of the period of Queen Elizabeth—we must suppose that tradition, with its usual readiness to group all marvellous actions around one popular hero, has confounded his name with an earlier one associated with the cromlech.

The only legend I can trace concerning the place is to the effect that Queen Boadicea lies buried under a very fine and indubitably ancient cork tree just inside the west bank of the camp.

Take for instance a cave in the part of Rhiwarth rock nearest to Cwm Llanhafan, in the neighbourhood of Llangynog in Montgomeryshire. Into that, according to Cyndelw in the Brython for [date missing on STA], p. 57, some men penetrated as far as the pound of candles lasted, with which they had provided themselves; but it appears to be tenanted by a hag who is always busily washing clothes in a brass pan.

[This story] relates how a Monmouthshire farmer, whose house was grievously troubled by [a] bogie, set out one morning to call on a wizard who lived near Caerleon, and how he on his way came up with a very strange and odd man who wore a three-cornered hat. They fell into conversation, and the strange man asked the farmer if he should like to see something of a wonder. He answered he would. 'Come with me then,' said the wearer of the cocked hat, 'and you shall see what nobody else alive to-day has seen.'

When they had reached the middle of a wood this spiritual guide sprang from horseback and kicked a big stone near the road. It instantly moved aside to disclose the mouth of a large cave; and now said he to the farmer, 'Dismount and bring your horse in here: tie him up alongside of mine, and follow me so that you may see something which the eyes of man have not beheld for centuries!'

The farmer, having done as he was ordered, followed his guide for a long distance: they came at length to the top of a flight of stairs, where two huge bells were hanging. 'Now mind,' said the warning voice of the strange guide, 'not to touch either of those bells!'

At the bottom of the stairs there was a vast chamber with hundreds of men lying at full length on the floor, each with his head reposing on the stock of his gun.

'Have you any notion who these men are?'
'No,' replied the farmer, 'I have not, nor have I any idea what they want in such a place as this!
' Well,' said the guide, 'these are Arthur's thousand soldiers reposing and sleeping till the Kymry have need of them. Now let us get out as fast as our feet can carry us!'

When they reached the top of the stairs, the farmer somehow struck his elbow against one of the bells so that it rang, and in the twinkling of an eye all the sleeping host rose to their feet shouting together, 'Are the Kymry in straits?'
'Not yet: sleep you on,' replied the wearer of the cocked hat, whereupon they all dropped down on their guns to resume their slumbers at once.

'These are the valiant men,' he went on to say, 'who are to turn the scale in favour of the Kymry when the time comes for them to cast the Saxon yoke off their necks and to recover possession of their country!'

When the two had returned to their horses at the mouth of the cave, his guide said to the farmer, 'Now go in peace, and let me warn you on the pain of death not to utter a syllable about what you have seen for the space of a year and a day: if you do, woe awaits you.' After he had moved the stone back to its place the farmer lost sight of him.

When the year had lapsed the farmer happened to pass again that way, but, though he made a long and careful search, he failed completely to find the stone at the mouth of the cave.